Two Cheesy Haikus I Found on My Floor

angel — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 08:38:52 +0000

It’s National Poetry Month. In honor of this, I offer you two cheesy haikus that I found in my attempt to work on my filing system. (I have one…I just need to file the stuff now. yeah. details. Apparently I’ve posted these before, but this way perhaps I’ll work up the courage to post more stuff here.)

I love red leicester
Roquefort, edam, port salut,
But not limberger

Heaven is stilton
Some fruited brie with breakfast
Or cheddar on toast

Cheese and Haiku

angel — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 06:45:41 +0000

Look what else I found while tidying up! My two cheese haikus. (It seems to me that there was a challenge involved.) Anyway, here is your randomness for the day.

I love Red Leicester,
Roquefort, Edam, Port Salut,
but not limberger

Heaven is Stilton,
some Fruited Brie with breakfast
or Cheddar on toast

And now…For Dad

angel — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 04:29:07 +0000

I figure that it’s only fair. I posted something yesterday that reminds me of my Mum, so today I’m posting something for my Dad. This poem was something that he shared with me when I was very young, and I even have the book it’s in somewhere. Also, this should explain my random references to the “airy mountain” whenever I go up to see my Mother-in-Law. I love this poem.

William Allingham (1824â€“1889)

The Fairies

UP the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He ’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Celticangel.org » Poetry

Two Cheesy Haikus I Found on My Floor

Cheese and Haiku

And now…For Dad